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Friday, March 29, 2013

I don’t know what it means to have you. I did a little research
on the subject, but I was faced with exhausting standards. I have to have
curves, lift weights, make babies, have grace, and not date Yankees fans. There’s
more to it than that, but even thinking about it wears me out.

And… I don’t want to do
any of those things.

I don’t think doing or
not doing these things makes me have less of you. In fact, I don’t think you
really have much to do with the whole identity of a woman at all. Your whole
purpose is to designate whether or not my body has the equipment to make more
of me. You don’t even have to make sure it’s functional equipment.

Which, you didn’t. And
that’s fine. I didn’t even want to
make more of me.

I don’t think this
makes me less real of a woman, though. Whatever that means.

It makes me feel as if,
at any point, a group of women will show up at my door, make me strip off my girl
suit, and tell me to get out because they don’t allow crazy lizard monster
people in their lady club.

Listen: I don’t want to
wear pantyhose and I want to feel free to have mental breakdowns. I would rather
wear flats than heels and I feel sorry for any person that gives me something
and expects me not to accidentally break it. I have And I don’t want those things to
be a tool in which others measure and classify me. I don’t think it’s fair that
my having you and trying to be who I am makes me… less, somehow.

I do want to say thanks
for showing up and making sure I was born with female parts. Otherwise, I would
be going through a lot of really tough stuff right now to try and prove to
others even more that I am a woman.

I do like you and
everything, I just wish you were able to be more clear about what you’re doing
here and what it means to have you.